


be like the love that discovered sin (lover, be good to me)

by brightlyburning



Series: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Kink Meme Fills [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, FE3H Kinkmeme, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Sex Education, Size Kink, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25347190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlyburning/pseuds/brightlyburning
Summary: Sylvain feels, abruptly, like an unlucky sheep caught between two ravenous wolves."Sylvain," Byleth says, her voice clear and direct as if giving orders on a battlefield, "Dimitri and I trust you implicitly. Will you do us the honor of teaching us the bedroom arts?"Sylvain chokes on his wine.(Or the tale of Dimitri and Byleth the idiot virgin newlyweds, Sylvain their adoring and concerned wedding night witness and sex tutor, and how they came together. In all senses of the word.)(A kink meme fill for the prompt, 'Two virgins ask for Sylvain's expertise. He teaches them everything he knows.')
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Kink Meme Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777993
Comments: 49
Kudos: 326





	be like the love that discovered sin (lover, be good to me)

The universe hates Sylvain. Why he has to be the one chosen by lot to witness Dimitri and Byleth's wedding night is beyond him, other than that the universe is getting its revenge for how often he's treated sex as inconsequential. 

Still, he's managed to get through the wedding, which was perfect, of course; Dimitri would likely have exiled anyone or anything that dared to get in the way of his vision. Apparently he’s been planning his wedding for longer than he’s even been with Byleth. Sylvain's not ashamed to admit he cried, okay, he's discovered a fondness for true love that's probably born out of how certain he was that he'd never have it.

The feast is winding down, the tables cleared, most of the guests departed in their carriages. Annette's sprawled on the vast fur rug in front of the fireplace, the white fluff swallowing her tiny frame up, and singing some bizarre song about the rug while Felix, sitting cross-legged by her head, plays with her hair - the man's besotted - and Mercedes, curled against her side, giggles. Ingrid's got Ashe scooped onto her lap and her head pressed against his shoulder, her eyes heavy from the amounts of food she's managed to pack away, and Ashe, who never could hold his drink, keeps kissing her nose and mumbling appalling poetry.

The happy couple sit at the head of the hall with Dedue, talking quietly. Dimitri's broad and battle-scarred hand entwines with Byleth's atop the table, near encompassing it; he'd hardly let her go for a minute after sliding the ring on her finger and bending to kiss her. His face shines with an honest joy that Sylvain hasn't seen in ages, and whenever he turns to his wife to solicit her thought on some matter, his gaze is full of adoration and trust. He's blindingly handsome, all his strength matched with kindness: the king Sylvain always hoped he could be.

It's that same adoration that let Byleth get married in trousers and a blouse; she'd taken one look at the ceremonial gown the seamstresses had presented her with and requested trousers or shorts instead. The traditional wing of the court had been scandalized, broadsheets littered the streets naming their presumptive queen a libertine who spurned Faerghan tradition, and Dimitri, the lovesick fool he was, had been so thrilled to hear Byleth have a preference about the wedding that he'd declared she could marry him in her armor if she wanted. Byleth, thankfully, had asked the offended seamstresses to make her clothes, smoothing over some of the upset. 

Still, dress or no dress, she'd been breathtaking, her smile the widest Sylvain had ever seen when she stretched onto her tiptoes to return Dimitri's kiss. Her too-keen eyes check the perimeter, lingering on Sylvain for a moment. Perhaps she's annoyed he’s claimed a whole bottle of fine Fraldarius red to himself? But no, she'd grown up in a mercenary camp, she's never cared about that. She leans into Dimitri's side, a faint flush spreading across the delicate arch of her nose, and rubs her thumb across his knuckles.

They're gorgeous and so good, with each other and for each other, and a deep and not especially-well-liked part of Sylvain writhes in jealous torment.

Dimitri turns from Dedue to Byleth, smiling, and then goes unfairly, adorably pink when she says something to him. Ah, the lovers must be ready to go, and Sylvain must be ready to perform his duty.

A sudden hush falls upon the hall as Dimitri and Byleth stand. They're regal, even resplendent, Dimitri's cloak of pale fur wrapped about them both.

"My friends," Dimitri says, and unfair, he doesn't sound drunk one bit, only warm and authoritative, "words cannot express my joy that you have chosen to share this day with us. The hour's grown late, and so Byleth and I will be-" he stutters a bit, searching for the appropriate word when they all know what they'll be getting up to, "-er, retiring. Please let any of the servants know if you want or need anything, and we'll see you in the morning."

Ashe whistles, Ingrid attempts - poorly - to muffle him, and Sylvain had best be going. He nods a goodbye to his friends and stands, snatching up the bottle of wine he’d been nursing, and follows his king and queen to their quarters. The door to the royal suite looks like it’s belched garlands all over itself; the royal florists must have stripped the gardens bare. He waits outside the closed door a moment to give them time to get situated before knocking.

"Come in," Dimitri calls.

The newlyweds are seated on the side of the bed facing the door, Dimitri's cloak tossed over a chair, their faces bright with expectation. Sylvain swallows down his embarrassment and ridiculous envy and manages to say,

"Don't mind me. I'll just be sitting over there behind the curtain while you two, uh, 'retire.'" 

"Let us know if you need anything," Byleth says, and Saints, she's never sounded so happy in all the time Sylvain's known her, even if her expression betrays little of it. "We appreciate you doing this for us."

"No need to thank me, I'm happy to help." Good, that sounds believable. He settles into the witness area at the foot of the bed: a comfortable armchair; a table with a bottle of wine and a glass; one of his favorite strategy games; a candle; all surrounded by thin curtains to provide the happy couple with a veneer of privacy. "I'll just be here conquering fake cities and leading fake battalions, so pretend you're completely alone. Let me know when you two are finished, and I’ll head out."

The armchair is like sinking into a cloud, all enveloping softness. Why could they not have had chairs like this at the Gautier estate? He does his best to ignore Dimitri and Byleth's low voices as he pours himself a glass of wine and sets up the game board, but it's difficult; everything in him has been trained through war to respond to them first, always.

"Well," Dimitri says, standing up off the bed and offering Byleth his hand, "shall we begin, beloved?"  
  
Where is the battalion dice?  
  
In the corner of his eye, Byleth lets Dimitri draw her up off the bed and into his body. The tips of her ears are pink even through the thin curtain. "We'll need to get undressed," she says as if Dimitri's missed some vital tactical step, then her hand slides up Dimitri's arm, curls about the back of his neck-  
  
Oh, good, there's the dice, now to get out the generals.  
  
His king and queen are very, uh, enthusiastic kissers, all groping hands and clicking teeth. Dimitri groans low in his chest, a rumble that has Sylvain's idiot cock jumping in his pants, and hefts Byleth up with one muscled arm to kiss her deeper, all while Byleth attacks the laces of his tunic with an intensity that's almost frightening, tearing the knot apart with her bare hands - oh, Saints, that's alarmingly hot - and tossing the broken pieces over her shoulder.  
  
A button soars off of Byleth's blouse when Dimitri tugs at it, hits the linen curtain in front of Sylvain’s face, and sends the tip into the candleflame.  
  
A brief, mortifying silence, broken by the crackle of burning cloth. He can feel their eyes on him.  
  
"Still not here!" Sylvain yelps, slamming the game board down over the smoking curtain end on the table to smother the fire. The king's valet, he determines upon lifting the game board and seeing the scorch mark on the ancient surface, is going to murder them.  
  
"Madame de Givoir is going to murder me," Dimitri mutters from where he's tucked his face into Byleth's neck. "After all the correspondence we had about your outfit-"  
  
"She'll have to go through me," Byleth says, both imminently reasonable and bizarrely accepting of the idea that the royal seamstress might turn to assassination.   
  
"So ferocious in my defense, my love," Dimitri says, and just like that they're kissing again, hands slipping beneath clothes, cloth straining.  
  
Well, at least they're back to it. Sylvain slouches back into his chair and has some wine, trying not to listen as they stumble towards the bed. He's positioned in such a way that he can only catch glimpses of them through the curtain, but what he can see is more than enough. Byleth's blouse sails past, followed shortly by her breastband, and then Dimitri's shirt. The mattress creaks. Byleth murmurs something, her voice warm and low, and Dimitri answers, the two of them laughing together. At the foot of the bed, the duvet goes taut where it's tucked in; they must've gotten beneath it.

He shouldn't look. Yet Sylvain's never been the kind of person who was good at 'shouldn't,' even when he knows it'll hurt him, even if it's self-defeating.

Dimitri's back is an expanse of scars and hard muscle, his shoulders and biceps flexed as he props himself up above Byleth. His hair, loose from its tie, flows over the hard line of his jaw, flirts with the curl of his mouth where he grins down at his wife. Byleth's eyes shine, her hair spread out across the pillow, already tangled from Dimitri's fingers. One pale hand rises to cup Dimitri's jaw, and her breasts are full and ripe and heavy, and then Dimitri turns his face into her hand and kisses her palm. Goddess, they're beautiful, and Sylvain has no right to be as envious as he is.

He sets up his game board and immerses himself in tactics to try and give them whatever privacy he can, then plays through a round of the game.

The sudden awareness of something going wrong filters into him: whispers with a frantic edge.

"-you certain about this? It's, er, a bit painful for me." Dimitri's tone is wary, almost a little frightened. "I know it's hurting you, and I would give anything not to harm you."

"We're just not trying hard enough," Byleth says. She sounds exhausted, trying to keep a brave face on. "Here, I think-" the rustle of bodies rearranging themselves, before she makes a satisfied noise. "All right. Now push, and don't stop."

Sylvain's heart drops into his stomach. They've already tried penetration, and failed, and their answer is to push harder? Shit, he can't even remember hearing any foreplay beforehand; not that he tried to listen for it, but he should've heard something. Dread settles cold and heavy along his spine.

Byleth's breathing stutters, a taut thin whine lacing the edges, and when Dimitri grunts as though hit, she manages, "I said don't _stop_ ," in an awful wet tone.

"I'm sorry," Dimitri says, then again, softer, "I'm so sorry, I'll be quick, beloved, I promise."

Saints, do they know _nothing_?

Sylvain tears the curtain aside, and the sight is enough to break his heart. Dimitri's hunched over Byleth, his back scored and bleeding with the marks of her nails, and what Sylvain can see of his expression is a horrid mix of grimness and determination. Byleth's hands curl on the breadth of his shoulders, white-knuckled fingers digging into his skin. Her face is screwed up, the corners of her eyes wet, and she pants, open-mouthed, her chest heaving like a beast in agony. Her heels dig trenches into the mattress.

"What are you _doing_?" Sylvain lunges out of the chair, and Dimitri startles, whirling and throwing an arm out across Byleth, who goes limp with terrible relief.

"Sylvain!" Dimitri, now that he can see him, looks no better. Sylvain's never seen his king without his eyepatch, so he can’t help but glance at Dimitri’s right eye; it shines pale and white as the glaciers of Sreng, the socket around it gouged with red and white scars and the upper lid drooping. "What-"

"You're _hurting_ each other, you impossible idiots," Sylvain snarls. These two: his king and queen, terrifyingly strong, ready to die for each other, and yet so numbskulled they jump right to penetration? "Do either of you even know what you're doing?"

A sudden, appalling silence. Dimitri suddenly recognizes his nakedness and flips a corner of the duvet over himself, then glances at Byleth. Byleth, sitting up now, her throat shining with sweat, shrugs at her husband, then at Sylvain.

"Having sex?" she says.

"With no kissing beforehand? No oil? Nothing to make it easier?"

They stare at each other and communicate something with a great deal of eyebrow movement, before turning back to Sylvain.

Oh, dear Goddess.

"Has _no one_ told you how to have sex?!" Sylvain's not proud of the way his voice squeaks.

"We _were_ having sex!" Byleth protests, while Dimitri cuts in with, "We're not fools, Sylvain, we know the mechanics."

"There's a lot more to sex than shoving a cock into a cunt, especially when neither of you are ready." Margrave Gautier, for all his many flaws as a father, had made the necessity of pleasing your partner clear. "Did no one speak to you about this?"  
  
Another strained silence. Byleth leans back, completely comfortable with her nudity, the motion putting her breasts on full display. Focus, Sylvain.  
  
"I'd watch my father judge disputes between our mercenaries and the camp followers over such matters."   
  
Oh. Well. Of course, why did he even ask?  
  
"And you haven't had sex before."  
  
Her brow quirks, and she answers, dry as Almyra, "I shared a tent with my father until I was twenty, and I didn't start to realize I had sexual feelings until after I came to Garreg Mach. So, no."  
  
No help there. He turns to Dimitri, who's gazing at his wife with fondness and concern.  
  
"And you, Dimitri?" This seems too intimate a conversation for rank.  
  
Dimitri stares at Sylvain, his gaze arctic. One sweat-damp lock of hair brushes against the line of his nose, and he pushes it aside irritably. His tone matches Byleth's in aridity. "Other than my tutors, the only people who could have spoken to me about such things were Gilbert, Rodrigue, and Rufus."   
  
That pretty much says it all. Gilbert has hang-ups about everything under the sun; Rodrigue, for all his love for Dimitri, had been occupied with managing Fraldarius lands and advising Rufus; and Rufus had never been involved in Dimitri's life beyond sending a succession of interchangeable tutors, none of whom were allowed to befriend the young Dimitri for fear of splitting his loyalties.  
  
"Right. Okay." He swallows down the laugh pushing at his throat. It'd be rude to laugh openly at them, and in all honesty this situation speaks to how sad their upbringings were, but there's a part of him that can't help the urge. "And neither of you, uh, learned to pleasure yourself?"  
  
Byleth shrugs.   
  
Dimitri's blush spreads across his cheeks, down his throat, just flirts with the edges of his broad chest. He clears his throat. "I mean, I know how, but it's, er..." his voice trails off, "...quite an investment of time." His shoulders hunch.  
  
"Okay." Sylvain gropes behind him for the chair and sits down, then grabs the wine bottle and pours himself another glass. Considering the conversation, he's glad he's got two bottles. "What do you mean? It's not pleasurable, or it takes you awhile to finish?"  
  
"Oh, no!" Dimitri straightens up. "It's nothing like that, I assure you. It's quite good. It's just that, uh, I need to finish multiple times before I'm actually, you know, finished."  
  
Sylvain fumbles his glass on its way to his mouth and barely catches it again. "What."  
  
Dimitri's chin touches his chest, his shoulders curling inward, and he mumbles, ears bright, "I have to climax multiple times. I think it's related to my crest, but I wasn't going to ask Professor Hanneman about it, and..."  
  
"No," Sylvain says distantly, faintly aware of the sound of Dimitri trailing off into embarrassed silence. "That'd be a bad idea." Dimitri can - has to - come multiple times? That's... really hot, actually. He hides the groan stuck in his throat by taking a gulp of wine, then crosses one leg over the other to try to hide his burgeoning erection.  
  
"I have an idea," Byleth says, breaking his haze. "Sylvain, you're an experienced lover, if the amount of times I caught you sneaking people into your dorm room is anything to go by."  
  
Sylvain lowers his glass. "I mean, I'm not going to sound my own trumpet about it, but sure, yeah." Guilt reddens the back of his neck at the memory. He'd been a shitty person to all those women - and a few discreet men - and there'd been a part of him that thought to apologize, but the war disrupted those plans, as it had everything. With how many people from the villages around Garreg Mach had been forced to flee, he wouldn't even know where to begin.  
  
Byleth reaches for Dimitri's hand and curls her own around it, causing Dimitri to unwind from his mortified hunch and meet her gaze. They have another of their silent conversations, before Dimitri nods, and they turn to Sylvain as one. They look like they’ve sighted an enemy all the battlefield, all focus and determination.  
  
Sylvain feels, abruptly, like an unlucky sheep caught between two ravenous wolves.  
  
"Sylvain," Byleth says, her voice clear and direct as if giving orders on a battlefield, "we trust you implicitly. Will you do us the honor of teaching us the bedroom arts?"  
  
Sylvain chokes on his wine. He gets a hand up to wave off Dimitri, who's leaped out of the bed to offer assistance, but then catches an eyeful of Dimitri's cock, bobbing merrily as Dimitri realizes he's naked again and dives beneath the covers. Saints. He'd seen it before in the sauna - hard not to - but had figured his friend for a shower, not a grower. Good Goddess, Dimitri is certainly a shower _and_ a grower, the lucky bastard. Even Sylvain, who's proud of his own endowment - bigger than some, and he's certainly never had a complaint - feels a bit outclassed.   
  
No fucking wonder they'd been hurting each other, dealing with a cock like that.  
  
He pounds a fist on his chest to clear the last of the wine, then manages, "That's a hell of a thing to spring on a person, Professor."  
  
"Oh." Byleth seems to shrink in on herself, the hesitance strange on one such as her. "Well, it was only a thought."  
  
"I'm not saying I won't do it," Sylvain cuts in, setting the glass aside, and both their faces brighten. They're beautiful, gorgeous and strangely naive, their hands soaked in blood and their bodies still honed for war. Only a faint softening at Byleth's thighs and Dimitri's belly tells of peace. They should get to know the full delights of what they've bled for: joy, tenderness, the pleasures of the flesh. That he might get to teach them, that they'd trust him with such - it makes him straighten a bit with pride. He's adored them both, willingly laid down his life for their cause, again and again; it's not wholly selfish of him to say yes, even though his cock jumps in his trousers at the thought. "But I want to know exactly what you want, so there won't be any hard feelings. Do you just want me to sit here and talk you through it? Get in bed with you? Clothes on, clothes off? Kiss you? Touch you?"  
  
Dimitri's eye goes dark, his tongue swiping out to moisten his lips, and Sylvain's mouth dries. Dimitri and Byleth have a furious whispered conversation, their heads bent together and blond hair mingling with green, before Dimitri says,  
  
"The paternity of a potential heir to the throne must not be in doubt. Other than that," he blushes again, and Sylvain wants to kiss every inch of pink skin, "we learn best by doing. We place ourselves at your disposal."  
  
Sylvain can't get his breath. They'd let him kiss them, mouth the swell of Byleth's rose-tipped tits, curl his hand about his king's cock? They'd trust him - the former cheat and seducer - that far?  
  
"Dimitri, you like men?" He can't hide the hunger in his voice, and Dimitri, hearing him, shivers, fingers curling into the duvet. Still, his king lifts his chin and answers,  
  
"I haven't had the chance to explore such feelings, but you are very handsome, Sylvain."  
  
Oh. Sylvain can feel the wolfish smile overtake his mouth. A tremble races across both their bodies as Sylvain says, low,  
  
"So you'd let me kiss you, then?"  
  
"Yes," Dimitri starts, only for Byleth to cut him off, leaning forward, her eyes wide and black,   
  
"Yes. You should kiss him. Absolutely." She blinks, thoughtful, then tacks on, "And you should kiss me, too. More than once."  
  
Sylvain's nails bite into the upholstery of the armchair. Fire licks down his spine, pools in his belly, the rest of him in disbelief still. "So, just to make sure I've got it. You want me to guide you, hands-on, and everything is on the table except me fucking Byleth."  
  
They nod.  
  
Sylvain closes his eyes and blows out an exhilarated breath. "Okay. Last thing I need you to know: either of you get worried, want to back out, need a break, whatever, just say so. I'd never hold that against you. Clear?"  
  
"That goes for you, too," Dimitri says, a stubborn tilt to his jaw, and Sylvain grins, charmed despite himself.  
  
"Understood, Your Majesty." He jerks his head at the water closet. "I'm going to get ready. You two stay here and keep each other warm for me."  
  
It's that last turn of phrase, carelessly tossed off, that gets them blushing, turning to each other with shy happy smiles. Can't say he's surprised; they've always been the type to want to serve others.  
  
He might need to pay a visit to Garreg Mach and light some candles at the Saints' statues for this gift.

In the water closet, Sylvain splashes some cold water on his face, then stares at himself in the mirror. He looks good, for someone who's had their entire view of two of his closest friends upended in the space of ten minutes. A bit scruffy, his red stubble visible with the end of the day, but that's all; he's done his best to keep fit, only a faint softness at his belly telling of the calmer life he leads now. He undresses, scratches idly at his chest hair while considering the two lovers outside the door.  
  
So. Virgins, but enthusiastic ones, enough to hurt themselves trying, and Sylvain's led enough nervous partners through sex to know how a bad first experience can taint what comes after. At least they seem willing to be guided, and hopefully he can show them what they're supposed to have together.  
  
All right, enough woolgathering. Snagging a towel off the nearby rack, he wraps it around his waist, hissing as the rough fabric runs across his cock, and cracks the door.

"You two ready?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sylvain steps into the candlelit bedroom, one hand fisted about the towel to keep it up, and Byleth and Dimitri's gazes lock on him. The heat of their interest is near tangible, Dimitri's dark gaze flicking from Sylvain's face to his chest to the rise of his cock beneath the towel, while Byleth, her eyes pale flames, rises up onto her knees to get a better look.  
  
He hasn't felt so flattered in ages.  
  
"Do I pass muster, Your Majesties?" Sylvain grins, not too above himself to keep from showing off his arms, honed with riding.  
  
"Yes," Dimitri manages, blushing, while Byleth leans forward, hands on her knees in a way that frames her tits gorgeously, and says,  
  
"You promised kissing, get over here." 

Sylvain takes a few steps, but halts when Byleth holds up an imperious hand and adds, "Drop the towel." 

“Your wish is my command,” Sylvain says with a wink. The towel slips to the hardwood floor, baring his cock, rising from its nest of dark red curls and wet at the tip. 

Byleth studies him with open fascination, tilting her head when a bead of clear fluid wells in his slit, and lifts her gaze to meet Sylvain's when he steps to the edge of the bed.  
  
"So, let's talk foreplay."  
  
Dimitri drags his stunned gaze away from Sylvain's cock to sit up, expectant, looking for all the world like he's about to take notes. "Oh, yes! Kissing, right?"  
  
"Among other things." Sylvain drops onto the bed between them, bouncing a bit. "If you're going to have sex, you have to have foreplay first, especially if you're sleeping with a woman. Guys-" he nods at himself, and then at Dimitri, whose cock is still standing proud beneath the duvet corner he's put over himself, "-get aroused, and we're generally ready to go. Ladies, like the beautiful Byleth here-"  
  
Byleth's mouth curls into a faint smile.  
  
"-take a while longer. And if you don't take that time, she won't be turned on or relaxed, she won't get wet, she'll stay tightened up, and neither of you will have a good time."  
  
Byleth's brow furrows. "I thought tight was good?"  
  
"That's a common myth spread by idiots." Sylvain shrugs one shoulder, enjoying how both his lovers' gazes fall to the swell of his chest. "People don't put enough time into foreplay, they have sex before they're ready, their partner's too tight and in pain, and everyone assumes that's how it has to be. You want good sex? Have it with a partner who's turned on and engaged; being tight has nothing to do with it."  
  
"How long should we spend on foreplay, then?" Dimitri's getting a little more comfortable, easing a bit closer to Sylvain. The breadth of his body puts off heat like a furnace. "I'm happy to take my time with it."  
  
"There's no time limit," Sylvain says. "You go until you're both ready for whatever comes next."  
  
"But first, kissing," Byleth confirms, nodding, as serious as a lance to the throat. "Sylvain, kiss me."  
  
"Happy to," he says, low and lazy, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin. Then, considering how she and Dimitri had kissed like two starving wolves fighting over a deer leg, he adds, "Follow my lead, okay?"  
  
Byleth nods, her eyes wide. Her hands curl into fists on her knees as Sylvain leans in. The scent of her - unique, water and the aftermath of storm - surrounds him, the warmth of her skin against his face-   
  
She huffs a breath against him as he presses his lips to hers. Her mouth is soft now, no longer the windbitten chapped one of a soldier, and she holds utterly still, a faint tremble racing beneath her skin, as Sylvain brushes his mouth against hers. He's patient, thorough, memorizing the faint drag of an old scar on his lip against hers, gentling her through it like he has all the time in the world. Then, daring, he runs the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips, breathing in the faint whimper she lets loose, and sits back.  
  
"Good so far?"  
  
Byleth looks like someone has struck her with a poleaxe, silent and blinking. She raises one hand to her reddened lips to touch them. 

Dimitri and Sylvain share a worried glance, but then Byleth reanimates and spots Sylvain, her eyes narrowing. She reaches out with her other hand to yank Sylvain closer to her. Goddess, she's strong-  
  
"Kiss me again harder," she demands. Her hands, callused and frighteningly powerful, settle on Sylvain's shoulders to pull him in, the ragged nails the maids had despaired of biting in. She startles, then settles, as Sylvain cups her sharp jaw, stroking the softness of her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Hey, slow down. We got all night, remember? Besides, you don't want to wear me out before we can give your husband a good seeing to, right?" Sylvain tilts his head at Dimitri, who's watching them with bright eyes, his teeth digging into his lower lip.

"Oh! Yes, of course." Byleth blushes. "Can you kiss me and then him?" Who would’ve ever thought the former Ashen Demon, the woman who'd helped Dimitri conquer Fodlan, could blush?

Sylvain lifts his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Byleth's ear. "Sure." He leans in again, and this time Byleth meets him with new confidence, her teeth sharp on his lower lip, her fingers kneading at his shoulders. Another whimper escapes her when Sylvain flicks his tongue at the soft inside of her mouth, and then she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut, when Sylvain cups one hand around her breast. Saints, her _breast_ , heavy and full, overfilling his hand with all that soft unmarred skin, her pale pink nipple pebbling beneath his thumb as he circles it. He wants to get his mouth on her, wants to slip his cock between her gorgeous tits, the greed making him dizzy with it-

She pulls away, panting, and turns Sylvain around. "Go kiss Dimitri." Over Sylvain's shoulder, she catches Dimitri's eye and adds with a sudden serious sweetness, "Sylvain's very good at it."

Dimitri, cross-legged at the end of the bed with his hands primly above the covers, nods. He meets Sylvain's gaze, seems to realize something, then winces.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Sylvain, I forgot I'm not wearing my eyepatch-" 

Hating the self-loathing spreading across his king's face, Sylvain holds up a hand to forestall him, and says,

"You look handsome either way, Dimitri."

It's not a lie; he'd defy anyone who liked men to look at Dimitri, eyepatch or no eyepatch, and not find him stunning. Kind, generous, thoughtful, with powerful shoulders and rippling thighs: he's gorgeous.

Dimitri's smile is so warm and yet so unsure Sylvain has to kiss him, if only so he never has that fragility in his smile again. He crosses the bed in only a few awkward strides on his knees, frames Dimitri's stubbled jaw in his hands, and says, serious as he can manage,

"I'm going to kiss you now, because you look like you think I’m lying," and stoops to press his mouth to Dimitri's.

Dimitri gasps, hands settling onto Sylvain's hips. They sear his skin, the nearness of his hands to Sylvain's cock a constant tease, but they never move, trembling with tightly-leashed strength. The reminder makes Sylvain moan: all this power, caged beneath him, held back for him - he presses further, settles onto Dimitri's thighs, then lets his hands slip back to wind into Dimitri's hair. His hair, fuck - his cock jumps at the image, the idea, that hair wound about his fist, using it as a rein - 

Their tongues meet, slicking past each other, and Dimitri whimpers, his hands flexing on Sylvain's hips, rough thumbs stroking at the crests of his hipbones. Goddess, that whimper, vulnerable and needy and all for Sylvain, all because of his kiss.

Dimitri's hips jerk upwards beneath Sylvain, a thin whine breaking between them. The fabric's damp where Dimitri's cock nudges between his cheeks, hard and hot. Shit, Sylvain's not being a great top, forgetting about his partner's pleasure like this. He draws back, watching as Dimitri's eyes open, slow, as if waking from a dream. His eye shines, blue-black as the ocean, a delicious blush spreading from his nose down to the trembling hollow of his throat.

Sylvain wants to devour him.

"Sylvain," Dimitri says, "that was, er, you are..." He glances aside at Byleth, who's curled up near them to watch, her eyes bright, her lip shining where she's bitten it. "You were right."

"I always am," says Byleth, no smugness or artifice to her at all. 

"You're still hard, aren't you?" Sylvain says, and the purr in his voice has Dimitri's attention jerking back to him, those powerful thighs clenching beneath Sylvain's. "How about you show your wife and I how you touch yourself?"

In the corner of his eye, Byleth's usually blank expression twitches into something approaching greed.

Dimitri swallows. Sweat glitters in the fine golden hair above his upper lip. "You'd want that from me? It seems... selfish."

"Oh, it is," Sylvain says, breezy, climbing off Dimitri's lap. "I'm being extremely selfish, asking you to pleasure yourself all for me." Dimitri's breathing deepens, and Sylvain's grin becomes edged, possession unfurling within him. "You like that, don't you? Asking you to do something for me, telling you what to do."

Dimitri, heartbreakingly brave even in this, nods, eyes downcast and face flushed, and Sylvain can't _not_ kiss him, lovely as he is.

"So good for me," Sylvain breathes between them, and Dimitri whines, hands curling into fists atop the bedspread.

Sylvain draws away and settles at the headboard, leaning back against a mound of pillows. He wraps his hand about his cock, idly running his thumb over the head. Pleasure draws tight in his belly, pushes his hips into his fist, and he says,

“Want to kiss each other, show me what you learned?”

Byleth grins, sharp, a little feral. She lunges at Dimitri and presses him down into the bed, her husband falling with a laugh, the two of them sprawling into the thick white covers, Byleth tiny atop Dimitri’s giant frame. Lips meet lips, hands sink into hair; they kiss, and the air fills with the slick sound of mouths parting, joining, soft moans. Dimitri’s hips jolt upwards, free now of the bedcovers, his cock rubbing against the softness of Byleth’s belly, leaving a shining trail of precome behind.

Saints above, they’re gorgeous.

Byleth draws back, panting, to glance down at where Dimitri’s cock nudges against her, and her smile dims, just a bit. 

Time to move on.

“Come up here, darling girl,” Sylvain calls, patting the bed between his spread thighs. The pet name falls from his lips without thought, and he winces, shrugging in belated apology.

Byleth wrinkles her nose at him - oh, Goddess, that’s adorable, he might _die_ \- as she comes up the bed, tits swinging tantalizingly with every motion. “You can say it. Better than Professor.” She sets her hand into Sylvain’s outstretched one, and twists to nestle up against him, her small form tucking perfectly against his broad one. She sinks back, shifting when his cock nudges at the small of her back.

“Would you like me to touch you?”

“Nah.” Sylvain nudges her hair aside to plant a slow, hot kiss at the nape of her neck, loving the way she arches back into it with a tiny hitched breath. “I’d rather watch Dimitri and touch you, if that’s okay.” She nods, so he runs his hands down her sides, over the delicious curve of her hips, her strong thighs, to scoop up her legs and drape them over his, leaving her spread open. 

“This okay?” he asks, nuzzling the soft spot behind her ear. 

She leans her head back on his shoulder and relaxes with a soft hum and a slight smile. Perfect.

Sylvain takes the moment to gaze down her body. She’s beautiful, scarred and tough, her thighs warm and heavy with muscle, her belly soft, sucking in on a breath when he runs the back of his knuckles over it. Just beyond, a triangle of pale green hair, covering what lies beneath. Sylvain flattens his hand between her hipbones, thumb stroking at her skin, and glances up at Dimitri.  
  
"Come up between our legs," he says, and Dimitri obeys.   
  
He's beautiful - stunning, even - kneeling before them. The blush on his throat and across his chest near glows in the candlelight, his eyes lowered, hands lax on his strong scarred thighs. His thick cock, obscenely long, curves out from his body in a graceful arc. Powerful, in every way he can be, and yet choosing, here, to lay it down.  
  
"Lovely," Sylvain says, sighing, his breath translating into Byleth's shiver against his hands, back into his body, a loop of pleasure. He curls his fingers into the springy softness of Byleth's pubic hair, strokes his thumb across the skin just above it. "Isn't he gorgeous, darling? You're a lucky woman."  
  
"I truly am," she says, soft, fond, and the warmth in her voice has Dimitri darting a glance up through ash-blond lashes, daring to smile.   
  
"So." Sylvain sets his other hand on Byleth's stomach. "Let's keep on with the foreplay. If you do this part right, giving your partner an orgasm can help them relax enough to take more - and it's also just fun. Here's what I want you to do."   
  
Dimitri lifts his head at that, hand moving towards his cock, and Sylvain nods. "You touch yourself. Bring yourself to orgasm so we can both see how hot you are when you come, but while you're doing that, keep an eye on Byleth, here-" he lowers his head to kiss her ear, then murmurs for both of them to hear, "-while we see how turned on she can get from me playing with her fucking gorgeous tits."  
  
Byleth shudders, her fingers tightening against Sylvain's knees, and Dimitri's expression sharpens.  
  
"Yes, Sylvain," he says.   
  
Sylvain could get used to that.  
  
"Watch him," Sylvain says, nuzzling the fine hair behind Byleth's ear. "Let's see what he does with that incredible cock." He needs to help her view Dimitri's body as a source of pleasure, even the parts of him that've brought pain thus far. He glances up through sweat-damp hair at Dimitri. "Give me your hand."  
  
Dimitri's eyes widen, but he leans in, offering his hand for Sylvain to take. Sylvain grabs it by the wrist, then sucks the fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, lapping messily at every finger, nipping at the calluses on the knuckles.

Byleth moans, shivering, twisting to stare wide-eyed, but Dimitri looks wrecked. His hips jerk into thin air, the slit of his cockhead leaking precome, slicking down over reddened skin; his nostrils flare wide, his breathing harsh. He groans when Sylvain pulls off his fingers with a pop, then licks a broad stripe across his palm.

"There," Sylvain says, letting go. "That should make it better, go on."  
  
Dimitri sits back on his heels, then, holding their gazes, drops his hand, wet with Sylvain's saliva, to wrap about his cock. He tips his head back, exposing the hollow of his throat, damp and shining with sweat, the muscle of his neck, his chest, going taut as he strokes slowly down, spreading precome, sinking back to lean on his free hand. There’s something animal in him, the slow rock of his hips, the unselfconscious desire in every low sound he makes.

"Gorgeous thing," Sylvain says, and has to hold himself back from further filth when Dimitri whines. 

Byleth’s breathing deepens, her body shifting against Sylvain’s as he slides his rough hands up her body to frame the soft weight of her breasts, skimming the tips of his thumbs over her nipples, drawn tight and tender in the cool air. She shudders, hitches a breath, the muscles of her thighs drawing tense against Sylvain’s. "Isn't he pretty, Byleth?”

She nods, and Sylvain’s body is fizzing, his heart roaring. The power they’re giving him, the trust they place in him, has everything in him drawn tight, all of him focused on giving them the most pleasure possible. He squeezes Byleth’s tits, greedy to watch all that pale delicious flesh spill between his fingers, drinks in the leap of her body, her low cry.

Then, running lips over her sweat-damp shoulder, the back of her neck, whispering against her ear: “Look at Dimitri, look how good he feels."

It's impossible not to: the flex of his bicep, the quake of his thighs, his deep gasps, the thin sheen of sweat springing up across his body. He works his foreskin back further, exposing the head of his cock to the cool air, and presses his thumb to the slit; even that little movement makes him gasp, a tiny, choked thing, incongruous for how big he is. Then, as if too sensitive for more touch there, he slides his hand down to heft his balls, roll them between his fingers, hips bucking into emptiness.

Byleth’s eyes are huge, her face flushed; her chest heaves into Sylvain’s hands. Goddess, she’s beautiful: the startled greed on her face, her hands tight on his thighs, the way her breaths draw tighter and tighter as Sylvain catches her nipples between his thumbs and fingers and rolls them, tearing a whine from her.

"See how he's blushing? Trembling? He's so close, looks like he could spill any moment. How do you feel, Dimitri? Tell us."

Dimitri shudders, but lifts his head. His eye's blown wide, black, his expression wild. "Sylvain-" he breathes, the long line of his body arching into the curl of his hand, the spot where his thumb circles beneath the head of his cock, "-Byleth, it feels- it feels so good-" the powerful muscles of his abdomen clench, stand out in rigid relief in the dimness, and his voice hitches on a sob.

“Look at her, Dimitri,” Sylvain says, and Dimitri swallows hard. “See how flushed she is, the way she’s shaking? She loves what you’re doing.”

Byleth trembles, biting her lower lip. Her thighs shudder, and it takes all Sylvain has to keep her open. Her hips thrust, heedless, against Sylvain, her skin dappled with sweat, making the torturous glide and press of Sylvain’s hands over her breasts easy. 

"What do you think, gorgeous?" Sylvain asks, kissing her shoulder, eyes locked on Dimitri’s, a fierce triumph rising in him at Dimitri’s gaze, fixed on where Sylvain handles his wife. "Should we let him?"

Threads rip as Dimitri's free hand clenches into the sheets, his shocked gaze flickering between them both. His cock jerks in his hand, releases another wave of precome that has Byleth making an airless sound.

"Yes," she breathes, staring at her husband, her face almost as red as his, her eyes dark. Her body quivers. 

"You heard her," Sylvain says, and Dimitri moans, long and loud, and goes taut, every muscle in his lengthy frame stilling, trembling- his hips surge once, twice more into his fist, and with a low sob, Dimitri comes, spattering the bedsheets between them. 

"Oh," Byleth says, stunned, "Dimitri.”

Her husband curls around where he's milking the come from himself with a shaking hand, letting it spill out with each hoarse breath he takes. His pants pierce the air, his body quivering. 

“Gorgeous, huh?” Sylvain says, pleased, perhaps a little smug. His cock’s starting to ache, but he ignores it; Byleth and Dimitri need all his attention now. 

“Yes,” Byleth says, definite, and Dimitri laughs, a little worn. 

“Ah, thank you.” His strokes cease, and he straightens, meeting Byleth and Sylvain’s gazes. Whatever embarrassment was on his face is gone now, wiped out in the lazy satiation of completion. “I, er, hope that was what you wanted.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Byleth says again, and Sylvain laughs against the top of her head. 

“What the lady said.” 

Said lady shifts against him, restless now, her breaths quickening with each slow heft and roll of Sylvain’s hands.

“You’ve had your orgasm, Dimitri. Ready to give Byleth hers?”

Dimitri’s expression sharpens, hungry, his eye glittering anew. “Always.” Obeying Sylvain’s directions, he slinks up the bed, the honed muscles of his back and shoulders rolling, to sprawl between Sylvain and Byleth’s legs, propped up on his elbows.

Byleth gulps a breath when Sylvain lets go of her breast with one hand, wetting his fingers with his tongue, before drawing his nails lightly down over the trembling plane of her belly to curl his fingers back over her mound. “Sylvain,” she murmurs, trepidation threading through her voice.

“Before you ever try to put your cock in her again,” Sylvain says, serious now as he rarely is, “promise me you’ll make sure she’s come a few times. Otherwise, you’ll end up hurting her, and I’d bet she already does.” Byleth’s sturdy, has endured pain and privation enough, but the lushness of her hips betrays just how small her cunt is at first glance.  
  
Hooking his chin over her shoulder to see better, Sylvain cups his hand over Byleth's cunt, the pads of his fingers glancing over where she's tender and swollen. She hisses, hips retreating from his touch, her breath hot where her face turns against his neck.

"Sore, darling?"

"Yes," she says, soft, a little guilty at how Dimitri, between her spread thighs, whines, expression stricken.

"Easy," Sylvain whispers, and curls his fingers over her damp folds, spreads them to expose her, red and a bit raw. "Dimitri, you've left her hurting. Come kiss her beautiful little cunt until you've made up for it."

Byleth shivers. Her nails bite into Sylvain’s knees, and her hips, expressive even when she’s not, tilt towards Dimitri’s waiting mouth.

Dimitri, for his part, sucks in a breath, his eye wide, his expression ravenous. “How-?”

“Slow,” Sylvain breathes, stroking his wet fingers across her folds. She’s slick, pulsing, as if he could feel a heartbeat there. “Take your time. Be gentle. Start with her thighs, kiss her, lick her, maybe a few nips. She likes that idea,” he says, grinning, when Byleth jerks in his arms. 

“I’m ready _now_ ,” Byleth groans, but she subsides, grumbling, when Sylvain says,

“Indulge me, gorgeous.”

Dimitri’s smile is sweet, the affection on his face enough to break a heart, when he leans over to press a kiss to Sylvain’s knuckles, to the back of Byleth’s hand.

“Put your hands in his hair,” Sylvain says, on a hunch. “He likes to be told what to do, I bet he’d love you to guide him.”

A shudder and growl rocks through Byleth at that, and there’s no hesitation in her when she threads her hands through Dimitri’s golden hair and pulls him aside to one of her thighs. She’s a demanding creature when she wants to be; Dimitri’s one lucky man.

Dimitri closes his eye and relaxes into her hold, following along to press slow, wet kisses to each of Byleth’s thighs. He obeys every unspoken order, slicking his mouth along her skin, the damp heat of his breath caressing the back of Sylvain’s fingers. Sweat slicks all their bodies, their breathing rough, loud, the mattress squeaking as Dimitri shifts, easing closer and closer to where Byleth’s cunt shudders beneath Sylvain’s hand. 

“Dimitri,” Sylvain breaks the quiet, smiling at his king when Dimitri flicks an inquiring glance up at him. “Look at her. Is she wet?”

Byleth draws in a hoarse breath, her fingers tight in Dimitri’s hair, but Dimitri doesn’t flinch: only drops his gaze to where she’s open, spread on Sylvain’s fingers.

“Dripping,” he says, hushed, awed. 

“Good.” Carefully, as gentle as he can be, Sylvain pets his thumb over Byleth’s clit to pull her hood back. It’s hard, swollen even with this slight a touch, and Byleth shudders against him, whining. “This is the most important part of bringing her pleasure. When she’s wet, when you’ve made her hard: she’s ready to climax, and if you treat this part here right, it’s likely she will. But you have to be gentle at first, and you have to listen to her.”

“Sylvain,” Byleth says, as close to a sob as he’s ever heard from her. Her hips roll up against his thumb, and Dimitri groans.

“You’ve never touched yourself here, right?” Slowly, Sylvain passes his thumb over her clit, feeling the tight strand of tissue roll beneath the pressure, and Byleth sighs, her head rolling back against his shoulder.

“No,” she manages, her eyes glossy with frustration.

“Okay.” Sylvain stills his hand. “So it’s important you let Dimitri know if you like something he does. Dimitri, if she pushes back against you when you do something, or starts shaking, that’s probably a good sign, but you’re better off asking. You two got it?”

Byleth answers by dragging Dimitri’s head down between her legs.

Dimitri opens his mouth and fits it over her cunt, near-feral, and even from above Sylvain can see his jaw working, the wet pink flash of his tongue lapping at her, glancing over Sylvain’s fingers where they hold her open. Dimitri eats at his wife like an animal, a beast let off its chain, saliva and her wetness mingling, sliding slick and messy over Sylvain’s knuckles, onto the sheets.

Byleth moans, louder than he’s ever heard her, her face screwing up, her chest surging into Sylvain’s grip. Her hips rock against Dimitri’s mouth, and Dimitri growls, his own hips snapping against the bed. 

_Oh_.

“Byleth,” Sylvain says, hushed, a greedy incredulous delight prickling at his skin, and jerks his chin when she opens glazed eyes to look at him, “ _look_.”

She does, and her body quivers against his.

“Look how much he loves eating you out, how fucking sweet your cunt must taste- he can’t stop-”

Dimitri groans, the muscles of his back and ass tensing, relaxing, driving his cock into the mattress. He’s going to come on the mattress again, too insensate with the taste and feel of Byleth’s cunt - Saints, Sylvain thought _he_ liked eating a woman out.

“Oh, Goddess-” Byleth starts, her voice trembling, pitching up into a wail as Dimitri fucks his tongue between Sylvain’s fingers, between her folds, into her, curls it to draw her wetness back into his mouth, the golden sweat-slick line of his throat working.

She’s trembling, her body straining tighter and tighter like a bowstring drawing back, her chest flushed. Goosebumps spread across her shoulders, beneath Sylvain’s palm cupping her breast. Her breaths hitch, shake apart into short sharp sobs.

Snarling, Dimitri licks up the length of Byleth’s cunt in one slick motion to sink his mouth over her clit, draws it and Sylvain’s thumb into his mouth. He sucks, a triumphant gleam in his eye, and Sylvain swears he feels Byleth’s clit pulse beneath his thumb.

Byleth arches, her back a trembling line, every muscle standing out, her hands white-knuckled in Dimitri’s hair. Her toes curl into the sheets. Her eyes clench shut, and her voice rises into a shredded shout of,

“Fuck, Sylvain, _Dimitri_ -”

Dimitri follows her up, his mouth still working her with a vicious tenacity, and then back down when she sags to the bed, her body limp against Sylvain’s.

She gulps for breath, shuddering, and pushes Dimitri off her. He goes easily, his expression both smug and expectant, then tucks his face against her hip and pants out his own climax, hips driving into the bed, then stilling on a long sigh.

Saints, Sylvain thought they were beautiful _before_. Like this, utterly relaxed, not an ounce of tension in them anywhere, they’re even better: sweaty, red-faced, their hair askew, undeniably human for all their power. Tenderness squeezes at his heart, and he has to clear his throat before saying,

“Orgasms for all, you both pass with flying colors.”

Dimitri, turning his slick-shiny face up to them, stubbled cheek resting on their thighs, snorts, and Byleth, her voice kitten-weak, manages,

“Your grading system is idiotic.”

“Hey!”

Byleth nips at Sylvain’s neck and says, “A, you haven’t had an orgasm yet, and B, we still haven’t gotten Dimitri in me.”

“Well, A-” Sylvain starts, mock-annoyed, adoring the grin on Dimitri’s face and Byleth’s reluctant smile, “-the point of this is not for _me_ to have orgasms, and B, sex doesn’t have to be about a cock in a cunt, that’s reductive.”

“Your essays were never that well-reasoned at school,” Dimitri says, and smiles up at Byleth when she laughs.

“It’s true, you always managed to get a C. It took a few moons before I figured out you aimed for it.”

Sylvain waves a negligent hand in the air, then slides a hand into Dimitri’s hair to scratch at his scalp. Dimitri melts into it, turning his face against them with a happy sigh.

“Do you want to try for penetration? Dimitri, that was, what, twice you came?”

Dimitri nods, his eyes closed, no hint of embarrassment on his face now. “Yes, but I’m not done yet.”

Must be nice. Or irritating. He’s not sure which. “Well, a lot of women can come more than once, but it’s up to you two. Byleth, what do you think?” He runs his hands over her idly while she thinks, toys with her nipple, thumbs at her jaw to tilt her into another kiss.

When they part, she pushes her sweaty hair out of her eyes and stretches, pointing her toes. “Let’s try it. I mean-” she reaches down and touches herself, brow furrowing as she holds her hand up, fingers shining, “-it’s hard to believe I can get any wetter than this.”

“Here, let’s do some shuffling around-” with only minimal grumbling, they end up with Dimitri resting against the pillows, Sylvain kneeling by his side, and Byleth straddling Dimitri’s thighs, gazing down at Dimitri’s erection with a bit less trepidation than before.

Sylvain, shameless as always, reaches out and wraps his hand around Dimitri, stroking just to watch Dimitri’s head fall back, his breath hissing through his teeth. “So the problem - well, it’s a problem _now_ but it won’t be for long - is that Dimitri, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re fucking huge.”

“I certainly didn’t intend to cause troub- ah!” Dimitri moans when Byleth’s hand joins Sylvain’s, his wife dipping to pet at his perineum with curious fingers. He picks his head up, glances between them, desperate pleasure etched on his face, then curls his hands into the sheets. More threads rip.

“It just means you two need to take your time, which you should be doing anyway.” Sylvain licks his hand, then rubs his thumb over the head of Dimitri’s cock, grinning at Byleth when Dimitri whines, his cock jerking in their grips. “And it limits some of the positions you can do, especially when neither of you have much experience. The one you started with, the traditional one: it’s not that good for virgins, because the partner who’s getting penetrated can’t control the depth or speed. So at least this time, Byleth’s going to be on top.”

Byleth nods, letting go of Dimitri rising up on her knees, then pauses when Sylvain raises a hand.

“Dimitri, you need to stay as still as you can, alright? Can you do that?”

Dimitri, who’s been looking steadily more nervous - for all his brutality in battle, he has a gentle soul and doesn’t want to hurt Byleth - blinks, then focuses, his expression determined. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Sylvain says, and grins when Dimitri shivers, his nipples drawing tight. “Byleth, come forward, just a bit.”

Even up on her knees, Dimitri’s cock almost brushes her folds. Sylvain strokes down to steady it at the base, then leans down to kiss Dimitri again before sitting back up and settling his other hand on Byleth’s cunt, holding her open. “Start when you’re ready.”

Byleth nods and places her hands on Dimitri’s chest. “Dimitri, hold my wrists.”

Looking grateful for something to do, he obeys, his giant hands curling about her wrists, his thumbs stroking the faint scars of war left on her forearms. “I’m ready when you are, my love.”

Byleth blows out a deep breath, and sinks. The thick head of Dimitri’s cock bumps at Sylvain’s fingers, allowing him to nudge it to one side, direct its passage, and then Dimitri slips into her body, her entrance stretching wide around it.

Byleth and Dimitri gasp as one. Dimitri sounds gutted, his eye wide and stricken, and Byleth’s smile is incredulous, her gaze flicking to Dimitri, then to Sylvain. She swallows, licks her lips, then confesses in a breathy voice, “He’s so _big_ -”  
  
Good. First step down. “All right. Hold there.” Sylvain starts to stroke Dimitri, using Byleth's slick to ease the way. "If you come inside her, it'll make it even easier." Plus, Sylvain can admit he's a little selfish, wants to watch Dimitri shake apart, his cock jerk against where Byleth's held pierced and trembling, her folds shiny with arousal. He drags his other hand up from where it's been cupping Byleth's cunt to roll Byleth's clit between his fingers, her hips rolling, thrusting into his hand. Difficult to coordinate, but oh, so worth it, the point-counterpoint of their whimpers, their low cries, the control they've given him.   
  
"Oh," Dimitri gasps, throwing his head back into the pillows. The tendons of his neck stand out in sharp relief. He trembles, his fierce body held down to the mattress by Sylvain's knee on his hip, the filthy wet noise of Sylvain jacking him off growing loud in the dim room.  
  
Byleth drops her head forward, pale hair stuck to her shoulders and forehead with sweat, to watch Sylvain rub his thumb in tight circles just beneath where Dimitri's eased the tip of his cock into her, the way he likes, and her breathing ratchets up into a wail of overstimulated pleasure. Ah, yes, there she goes, the muscles of her thighs tightening, her cunt clenching-  
  
"Come," Sylvain demands, and Dimitri shudders, roars, his hips twitching up against Sylvain's grip. The steel of his cock twitches in Sylvain's grip, once, then again, and Dimitri grunts like a beast with each abortive thrust, his hands quivering where they clutch at Byleth's wrists. His chest heaves, and Goddess, he's still coming, his thrusts powerful-  
  
Byleth stills, gasps, the sound wet with overwhelmed tears, and her cunt pulses against Sylvain's hand. Mixed clear and white fluid bubbles from where Dimitri's buried the head of his cock in her, slicks Sylvain's hand with their mingled climax.  
  
Sylvain curses, tears one hand off them to stroke his cock, slams the other down by Dimitri's shoulder and lunges down to kiss him frantically, smearing their mouths together, before he shoves himself upright to slam his mouth against Byleth's and swallow her cry as she drops further onto Dimitri's cock.  
  
He almost comes, but pulls his hand away in time to avoid it, watching with avid gaze as Byleth, thighs working, inches downward. She tips her head back, her brow furrowed, her mouth dropping open. A few whimpers fall from her lips with each time she manages to work more of Dimitri into her.

Dimitri is not nearly so quiet. Every move she makes punches a moan from him, his sweat-damp hair stuck to his brow. His fingers flex about the thin bones of her wrists, and there’s exaltation, desperation, shining in his gaze, so open Sylvain can hardly bear it.

He stoops to kiss Dimitri, drops his hand to circle Dimitri’s nipple. “You’re doing so good.” He truly is, considering how impatient he can be.

Dimitri smiles into their kiss, then hitches a breath, tearing his mouth away to gaze up at Byleth.

She’s halfway down, but seems stuck, her brow creased, her thighs shaking. “It’s- there’s a spot I can’t get past, but I know I can take more.” She growls, rises up, and before she can force it, Sylvain’s up, scrambling to lend some support.

“Lean on me.” Her weight’s negligible, but her exhaustion’s apparent; her muscles tremble, her breathing harsh. “Dimitri, touch her.”

Dimitri lets go of one of Byleth’s wrists to dampen his thumb, then reaches for Byleth’s cunt, dipping his finger to feel where she’s stretched and trembling about him, before he drags her wetness up to stroke her clit.

“You must be so full,” Sylvain murmurs against her ear, feeling her shiver. “Is it good?” He sweeps one hand up from her hip, cups the lush curve of her breast. “How does he make your sweet little cunt feel?” The other hand he presses on her mound, circling deep with the heel of his hand to work her against the width of Dimitri’s cock.

Byleth gasps, “ _Oh_ ,” her body clenching. Her back arches. “I feel-” 

Dimitri, his gaze fierce and utterly focused, repeats the motion of his thumb again and again, and Sylvain, in concert, lowers his head to suck her nipple between his lips. He slicks his tongue over the tight hard bud, tests the edge of his teeth, and sucks deeper, pressing harder with his hand until he can feel Dimitri within her.

“ _Fuck_ -”

She screams, her voice ringing off the walls, her nails digging white half-moons into the skin of Dimitri’s chest, and shudders through another climax. More liquid squirts around Dimitri’s cock and spatters audibly on his skin, sliding down to dot the coverlet.

By Seiros and all the Saints. That the former Ashen Demon could be so loud-

She goes limp against him, breathing harsh, tears streaking her face, and manages a laugh. “ _Oh_. That was-”

“Fucking hot,” Sylvain says, scooping up some of her come on his fingers to press it into Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri licks every trace of it off his fingers, humming agreement, his eye hooded.

Byleth drops further. Her tits, marked with the impression of Sylvain's mouth, bounce with each twist of her hips, and Dimitri, flicking his gaze to her for permission, lets go of her wrists to cup and heft her flushed breasts, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples.

They're utterly debauched, their bodies making filthy wet slick sounds as she sinks, their hair dark with sweat. The room is full of their soft gasps, Dimitri's grunting, her hoarse whines, and Sylvain, greedy as ever, can't help but lick the sweat gleaming in the valley between her breasts. She trembles, the thick muscles of her thighs working, and then, with a hiccuping gasp, she's seated, her come-slick folds meeting Dimitri's body.

"Beloved," Dimitri breathes, eye wide, his expression pure worship. "Oh, my love-"

Byleth manages a wobbly smile. Sweat rolls down her nose. Her voice is a bare husk of a thing when she says, "I don't think I can move. You're so-" Dimitri's cock must flex within her, for her face screws up in agonized pleasure, voice breaking, whimpering, "-so _deep_ , fuck."

Dimitri holds her steady, glancing at Sylvain, kneeling beside them, for guidance. The long line of his body is resolutely still, even though his belly is trembling, the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs quaking with the urge to thrust. Still so good, even now.

Sylvain lets go of Byleth and sits back, stroking himself just to get the edge off. Pleasure arcs down his spine, settles in a low throbbing pulse at the base of his cock. "Goddess, you two, you're so fucking hot. Dimitri, give me your thumb."

Byleth's breath hitches as she tries out a testing circle of her hips, rubbing her clit against Dimitri's stomach, and Dimitri, who's offering Sylvain his hand, hisses a curse, his other hand sliding to her hip, urging her on. His hair, dark gold with sweat, spreads across the white pillows as he shoves his head back, his toes curling.

"Byleth, it's up to you on this one," Sylvain says, taking Dimitri's hand and sucking the mingled tastes off his skin. "Do you want his hand, or do you think you can rub off on him? He can be a good toy, I think," and that last thing has Dimitri moaning, his eye black.

She leans forward, taking a deep breath, and then gasps when she hits a good angle. "Both. Show him what you did before, and I want his hand." She's found a rhythm she likes, her hips thrusting in small tight circles that push her clit into Dimitri, her husband's skin shining with their mixed sweat and come.

"Sure. Dimitri, here." Sylvain pulls Dimitri's hand to Byleth's mound, spreading it how he wants. "Keep your thumb on this side of her clit, and press your palm here-"

Byleth moans out a shuddering "Yes, right _there_ ," and bows her head. The muscles of her belly and biceps flex, shiver, rocking her cunt ever faster against Dimitri, her clit against his thumb, the sound of her panting all Sylvain can hear. Tears well in her eyes, but she takes no notice, her mouth drawn into a snarl, her breaths halting. Her hand snaps out, curls about the back of Sylvain’s neck, draws him in until her breath wets his lips.

“Sylvain, come on us,” she says, and Sylvain’s hand, still slick with them, flies to his cock. He hunches over them, one hand spread on Dimitri’s hard shoulder, and shit, shit - the bowstring snaps, the fire pouring through him, come spurting from his cock to pool in the hollow of Dimitri’s belly, gilding the fine hair there, mingling with them.

She gasps, loses the rhythm, and curls, shuddering, into Dimitri, a long, wracking sob breaking from her lips as she trembles through one last orgasm, her tears falling onto Dimitri.

Dimitri gentles her through it, breathing in great gasps, then closes his eye, grunts, his body bucking against hers on a groan of her name. His hands slide from her body to thump into the bedsheets.

Byleth falls sideways into Sylvain, making a strange sound between a hysterical giggle and a moan, every bit of her dead weight. “Oh, fuck, I can’t-” she gasps, shivering, “-I can’t get up.”

Sylvain manages to lift her off of Dimitri without any help from the king himself, who lies there, a worn-out beast, and tries to catch his breath. When his cock eases out of her, it’s a messy affair, ever more come easing out of her in thick strands to paint the insides of her thighs, the swollen folds of her cunt. His cock, half-hard, falls to lie in the glistening groove of his hip.

Goddess.

Sylvain lays her shivering body down beside Dimitri, her husband managing the strength to get one arm around her chest. She rolls into him with a muttered curse, flinging a leg over his, and smears an aimless kiss over his shoulder. 

Adorable. 

Sylvain summons the energy to grab a damp cloth from the water closet and clean them up, Byleth fixing him with a bleary glare through the wreck of her hair.

“Candles, then get in bed,” she growls, flailing a still trembling hand at Sylvain and managing only to brush his wrist. “Now.”

“As Your Majesty commands,” Sylvain says, unable to keep from grinning at the besotted and exhausted smiles on their faces as they watch him snuff the candles. “You sure you want me-”

“Bed,” Dimitri manages between enormous yawns, and well, what can he say to that? The darkness shields his ridiculous blush as he climbs into bed beside them, sliding beneath the covers next to Byleth. 

Dimitri, on her other side, one arm slung over Byleth’s belly, her head tucked beneath his chin, opens his eye. Twin gazes pin Sylvain in place. Saints, what more can they want-

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, disarmingly honest, and Sylvain, his heart skipping a beat, can only answer in a hushed,

“My pleasure.”

The warm darkness presses upon them like a fond lover, and Sylvain closes his eyes, listening to their breaths fall into slow steady rhythm. 

Then Byleth, cocooned in a bundle of blankets, stirs, opening her eyes to gaze at the ceiling. The stars painted on it reflect in her pale eyes, and her beauty twists Sylvain’s heart. Her voice, still scratchy, is thoughtful. “I just remembered. The _Book of Comely Saints_ at Garreg Mach had many ideas for what two men and a woman could do together. Or two men. Or a man and a woman.”

Wait, _what_ book is this?

“Dimitri, I think Sylvain should help us work through all of them.”

Sylvain chokes on air. 

On Byleth’s other side, Dimitri mumbles a sleepy agreement. Moonlight spills across his body, half-out of his portion of covers, renders him a statue hewn in marble.

“Excellent,” Byleth says, and rolls to face Sylvain. “Would you do us the honor?”

Sylvain will be making thanksgiving pilgrimages to Garreg Mach for the rest of his _life_.

“Always,” he manages, and Byleth, her smile secretive, leans in to kiss him.

These two are going to kill him, but Goddess-

What a way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier. Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism are all welcome! My Twitter handle is 'carthageburning' and my Tumblr is 'brightlyburning1,' should you want to follow me there.


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